Patterned Pretenses
by aprimavista
Summary: Ryan Evans can bend and not break. Or, he can break and take it with a smile. oneshot. semisongfic. companion piece. ryella.


**edit 5/31/07: Yes, this is still the same old _Bend & Not Break_, I just got tired of the title and thought I'd go for something new. I can't seem to be completely happy with whatever I choose for it, so don't be surprised if it changes every now and then.**_  
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**a/n:**_ So if you're reading this and have never read _She's Gonna Break Soon_ or _Scenestealer_ before, then I'm pretty sure you can read this & only this. Even though it goes along with them, I think the situations are, for the most part, all explained well enough. (Maybe.) You guys can be the judge.  
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_But if you have read them: This spans all throughout SGBS events, so there will be some overlapping from Ryan's perspective. Let me know what you think about me playing around with other characters, because this is my first venture away from Sharpay and I'd like to make sure I don't completely suck _: )_ This is also the last of the little trio-type thing, and my last story in the second person .. for awhile, at least._

_Anyways, as alwaysreviews are extremely appreciated, but I won't beg.__**  
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_I catalog these steps now  
Decisive and intentioned,  
Precise and patterned specifically to yours_

"No, no, no, Ryan. I'm wearing turquoise so you can't wear orange! We'll clash."

You barely stifle a sigh as you're forced into your room to change your clothes. You wonder if other twins are this way; color-coordinated still, well into their teens. Sometimes you look at the jocks with jealousy. You're not envious because they're popular, or something trivial like that, but because they show up day in and day out in a simply tee and baggy jeans. You want that. You want to be able to just casually strut down the hallway with your hair sitting messily on top of your head.

You're too far into this little facade now, though. For your whole life you've been this untouchable little boy, frosted at the edges. You've let yourself become putty in their hands, watching carelessly as they molded you into the person you are today.

At exactly eight o'clock you walk into East High next to Sharpay. The both of you brush by the other students, heads held high, and waiting for everyone to move for you. But of course they move, they always do. They part for you like you're Moses and they're the fucking Red Sea. You've heard all of the snarky comments before, you've memorized every clever cliche by now.

Your steps fall in rhythm, either from years of practice, or just a result of your relation, you don't know. The alligator shoes on your feet and Sharpay's boots make a sort of harmonious -click-click-click- completely in sync with one another. You see that basketball player with the dead animal on his head, Chad, shiver out of the corner of your eye. It's what they always do when they see the two of you.

The basketball players, oh yes, gods among mere mortals. However would one cope with their absence? Your thoughts turn sarcastic, cynical, and you're filled with satisfaction as Sharpay sends their little team a nasty glare. They brush it off, and toss around their basketball until the bell for homeroom rings.

It's days like today, which admittedly _is_ pretty much every day, when you find yourself in deep contemplation about your life. What would things be like if that very first day of Kindergarten you had introduced yourself to Troy Bolton or Jason Cross? Would you be standing there with them now, dribbling an orange ball without a care in the world? Would Sharpay be that popular girl that every guy tripped over himself to date?

And sometimes you regret trudging over to the sandbox with your sister as your only companion. Surely you would have been better off if the two of you didn't seem to have such a vendetta against the world, right? But would you trade everything you've accomplished in your life to have yourself hoisted over the shoulders of your teammates after a stunning victory? Would you trade the dancing, and the singing, and the roles for your name on the back of a jersey?

For the second time this morning you think that it must be nice to be a jock, they don't ever have to suffer through these thoughts like you do.

_I'm talented at breathing, especially exhaling  
So that my chest will rise and fall with yours_

Pink is the theme of the day. Some guys would never dare to wear such a "girly" color, but you figure none of them are actually comfortable enough with who they are to do such a thing. So you like dressing well and listening to show music - what does that mean? Does it mean you're "in the closet" and any minute now you're going to proclaim your secret love for Troy Bolton?

Of course not. You're not gay, not even close. A metrosexual, Sharpay calls you. Besides, even if you were gay, you'd like to think you'd have a little bit better taste then someone as awful as the school's golden boy. Cue shudder.

As you fix the cap on your head (white with pink racing stripes) you notice the guys from the basketball team laugh. Among your thoughts, you can clearly pick out: _immature_ and _one day you'll be pouring my coffee_. High School would be a much better place if everyone could just accept themselves, that way they could move on to accepting other people. In fact, you wouldn't be surprised if three or four years down the road _those_ guys were the ones who "came out." There's gotta be some reason they insist on harassing you as they do. And fuck, _you're _not the one showering with a bunch of sweaty and naked guys every day, are you?

You spare little time at your locker, quickly grabbing the books you'll need over the weekend and slipping them easily into your messenger bag. Friday at three - freedom at last. Something ticks inside of you, attempting a reminder about something you need to do today. But what is it? Dance rehearsals? No. Voice lessons? Those were yesterday. Then you hear the conversation of two giggling girls passing by and you're reminded.

"Oh my God. I still cannot believe _Troy Bolton_ is going to be in the play!"

"I know! Who would've thought such a _manly man_ would do something like this."

"Right? Gosh, it's so hot though!"

"Oh yeah."

Hot. Ms. Darbus would probably drop dead if she heard that word as a reason for someone to show up to her production. She'd be almost as disgusted as you are right now. The musicals were never "hot" when you were the male lead.

Poor Ms. Darbus, blissfully unaware that the reason the Twinkle Towne tickets sold out so quickly was because the star of the basketball team is now the star of the play. It seems no one's thought of this except you, but just because Troy Bolton can sing, what makes everyone think he can act?

You know that tryouts have always been more of a formality, just something Darbus uses to make it seem like things are completely democratic. But in the end you all know who those lead roles were going to. For that reason alone she's tried to shorten the agony of the school wannabes and just leaving the auditions as a song. The system worked well, until Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez came along.

Hours later you find yourself sitting in the squishy auditorium seats, watching the story of Arnold and Minnie played out by the most popular kids in school. You wonder how the fuck anyone can find them convincing as two people who have lost everything while succeeding at nothing. It seems Sharpay's thinking the same thing, if the roll of her eyes and grip of her fist are any give away.

The two stumble every so often, and it's clear their strongest scenes are their songs, but the play is an unfortunate success. It's wrong, you know, but you wanted them to fail. You wanted them to screw up so badly that everyone would run to you and your sister and beg for your return to the theatre. It's all wishful thinking. The crowd gives a standing ovation as you and Sharpay sit in irritation.

Fan-fucking-tastic. One other thing for the most beloved students at East High to excel in. Einsteinettes and Basketball boys should stick to their first love, so that Ice Princes and Princesses can stick to theirs. Not sticking to the status quo has seemed to work to the benefit of everyone else but you.

The theater starts to empty out, and you use your last moments in the darkness to perfect your emotion. The play's over and now you get to spend some one-on-one time with your new best friends. Yippie.

_I'm careful not to wake you, fearing conversation  
It's better just to hold you  
And keep you pacified _

"So tell me what you're having trouble with."

"Alright. Four letters: M-A-T-H."

She gives a small laugh, "But what specifically?"

"Math."

"All of it?"

And for the first time you're glad that Gabriella Montez was still in the classroom when your teacher expressed her concern for your grades. She's the only one who doesn't look at you like you're a dumbass. Alright, so you have trouble spelling drama club - so what? If anyone could hear what runs through your head, they'd never once make a remark about your intelligence. Book smarts aren't everything.

"Yep. All these numbers and letters, they're so annoying."

Her laugh is like a tinkle, you find. Sweet and infectious, kind of like her personality. "Okay, well the test is next Tuesday so we've still got some time."

She's only about ten minutes into her explanation of whatever's on the page in front of you before your eyes glaze over.

"You're not getting any of this, are you?"

"Huh?"

"How about a break?"

"Why Miss Montez, I believe that's the smartest thing you've said all afternoon."

She laughs lightly again. You can tell it's real, genuine, unlike the laughs of you and your sister. But she's cautious, almost afraid to give into that full-fledged, shoulder racking laughter that's so freeing.

And you're not quite sure how, but it seems you've started a whole conversation. The play, the Scholastic Decathlon, movies, San Diego, and life before she transferred seem to slip easily from the both of your lips. She's easy to talk to, and something in you registers that this is the best conversation you've held in weeks.

Ever since the Triple Threat Day people have been more wary of you than ever. Of course you don't mind hanging out with Sharpay, but you've spent seventeen years with her, there's only so much you can say to each other now that you haven't before. You've missed that feeling you get when sharing secrets with a stranger. That slightly awkward stage of introductions and getting to know someone hasn't hit you in years.

For way too long you've been Ryan Evans: Ice Prince, Sharpay's Lackey, etc. No one's ever seen you as anything different. Gabriella's obviously got her own pre-conceived notions of you, just like you have of her, but she seems to be doing a good job of stowing them away for the moment.

"So then he walks up to my friend Tracy and says 'I lost my number, can I have yours?' He didn't even know that her boyfriend was standing right behind him."

"Then what happened?"

"Jake, her boyfriend, went completely crazy. So he taps this guy on the shoulder and before the kid even realizes what's going on, he's got Jake's fist across his face. This worker had to break them apart."

"Sounds like a good time."

"That's not even the best part. The worker was dressed as a penguin, so he tries to waddle over to them and when he pulls them apart Jake shoved him down. It took him probably ten minutes just to stand back up. By then the other guy had his bathing suit down to his ankles."

Laughter slips from the deep recesses of your throat. It feels so good to have something to laugh about. But there's a voice in the back of your head telling you that you shouldn't be laughing with Gabriella Montez, of all people.

She giggles nervously, "Well I'm sure I've bored you about my life. What about yours?"

"Me? I live in a world of numbers and equations, and I've got no idea how to solve my way out."

"Oh Gosh, I can't believe we've been talking for nearly two hours! You're right, we should get back to work."

Ryan Evans has done it again - flawlessly executed a clever diversion. There's no way you could tell her the truth. How would she take it if you were to say your life revolved around something she and her boyfriend stole from you and your sister?

_I'm talented with reason, I cover all the angles  
I can fail before I ever try_

You know Sharpay's been getting suspicious, she's asked you on more than one occasion what your intentions are. You can never come up with an answer though, _you_ don't even know what you want.

And you've been meeting like this for weeks now. You get together under the pretense of studying, and you do so for a solid half an hour, before boredom takes over and you're back to conversation. She never complains though, and to be fair, your grades have risen slightly.

"Hot dogs or hamburgers?"

"Burgers. Pizza or fries?"

"Definitely fries. Summer or Winter?"

"Neither, Fall. Darbus in a bikini or Darbus singing?"

She laughs her tinkling little laugh and a smile comes to your face.

"Hmm, that's a tough one. I think I'll have to pass the question over to you."

"Darbus in a bikini, no contest." You waggle your eyebrows and your heart beats fast in triumph as she doubles over from shoulder-raking laughs. It seems she's getting more comfortable with you. And your heart beats a little faster now.

"Alright, so I believe it's your turn to ask the question."

"Being bald for the rest of your life, or having Chad's hair for the rest of your life?"

"I think I'd have to go with being bald. Long hair is hard enough to deal with. Okay, Broadway or Hollywood?"

"Well, Ms. Montez, I think you've stumped me."

"Finally! What's the score?"

"Three to one."

"One day I'll win, Ryan Evans, just you wait!"

You shoot back with a mocking response, until she insists, again, that you both should really be getting back to work. You know it's only a matter of minutes before you both scatter off topic about another trivial subject, or to another round of the "This-Or-That" game you've been playing for days. But for now you both ignore it, Gabriella hides her smile as she explains something about imaginary numbers. If they're imaginary, then why the hell do you need to know them? Can't they just go hide away with the imaginary friends you had when you were five?

It's the typical cliche moment now. A brown curl slips from her ponytail and into her face, filling you with the strange urge to want to move it. You fight the feeling with everything you've got, you shouldn't even be feeling that to begin with.

"Hey Gabriella?" It takes you a full moment to recognize it was your own voice that spoke. Maybe there is something more to these uncomfortable thoughts running through your head. _Maybe_ you do see something in the school's newest perfect student that you wouldn't like to be seeing.

One thing you can't deny is that it's there. Whatever _it_ is, it's sunken deep into your gut like a sucker-punch impact until all you see is a glowing smile and beautiful brown eyes. You know the subconscious never lies, and there must be a reason you've spoken up now. Maybe it's trying to tell you that for once in your life you should get off of your chest what you're actually thinking--what you're actually feeling.

"Yeah?"

"I think I have to tell you something."

"You think?"

"It's just that--"

"Gabby! Ryan! Hey guys!"

There he is: Troy Bolton in all of his basketball jersey wearing glory. What perfect timing he has. The grin on his face is playful and you can tell by the look in his eyes that he's not going through what every other guy in the world would at this point. He's not the least bit suspicious as he claps you on the back before giving Gabriella a chaste kiss on the lips, and you hate him a little more for that.

_So won't you hold me now  
I will not bend, I will not break  
Won't you hold me now  
I will not bend, I will break_

Your leg muscles ache and your heart sighs, you're overworking yourself and you know it. Everyone has their own stress revenue, and running just happens to be yours. Because with every step you pump and every mile you pass, it gives you a sense of freedom. Freedom's not really something you're used to feeling to begin with.

You just want to get up on one of East High's glossed cafeteria tables and shout out to anyone who's listening--to tell them, fuck the pressure. With everyday that passes your resolve slips more steadily and right now it's like you're finally getting away from it all, if only for an hour or two. The city slumbers peacefully as you continue on past recognizable shops and unfamiliar houses under the cover of darkness and the illumination of the streetlights. A lone car passes every now and then, but for the most part you're alone on the winding streets, and for that you're thankful.

It's not surprising the streets are virtually empty, after all it is early in the morning. But this is what you do. You fall asleep early and wake up to run like hell, then return home to shower and sleep for another little while without anyone ever realizing you've left. With all of the times you find yourself in need of a run like this, you imagine you could probably go out for the track team or something. Maybe you should consider it, after all, what do you have now that you don't have the plays?

And the trees whirr by, becoming nothing but blended hues of green, brown, and gold. In them you see the faces that haunt you, and in the whistling of the wind you hear the voices that plague you. A million thoughts run through your head, a million problems you need to find solutions for. The solutions don't come so easy though.

Life didn't used to be this hard, you remember. Things were relatively simple up until the day Gabriella Montez transferred to Albuquerque and shook up the entire school. Back then it was Ryan and Sharpay Evans against the world, not giving a damn what anyone else thought of you. You had your musicals and each other--you didn't need anything, or anyone, else.

But you have to be so friendly. You just had to try and make nice with the popular kids, didn't you? No matter how hard you try to deny it, and no matter how much you try to forget it, it always comes back to the fact that you wanted them to like you. You didn't want to be a second-rate drama freak anymore, you just wanted people to see you and think "Hey, that Ryan Evans is a pretty cool kid."

Everyone talks about high school as being this totally amazing experience. You're supposed to have a ton of friends, throw wild parties, drink while your parents are out of town, and just have a crazy time until four years were up. Because four years can pass by like the snapping of fingers, and you don't want your memories to consist of one person and one interest. You can just see yourself in college talking to a whole lot of new people who can easily relive their glory days, while you've got nothing particularly interested to recount yourself.

It's not fair to Sharpay either. She never asked to be the Ice Princess. In fact, it's hard to think of when exactly it was people began seeing her as that instead of the innocent little blonde girl next door. She'll never admit to it, she's got way too much pride, but you know she hates being an outcast as well.

So you decided to take it upon yourself to fix things. It seems you've done nothing but make them fall apart, though.

You converse simply, semi-easily most of the time, but it's never anything of true importance. You know now that most of "The Golden Group" (what you've heard Sharpay refer to them as) like you well enough now. They know the two of you aren't nearly as intimidating at a closer glance, but it seems they're still a little bit wary in their actions. It's like they don't want to get particularly close to you, for fear of what would happen if they did.

Or maybe, that's just how you feel about them.

You shift positions, urging your legs to drive you home as they all but shout in protest. Today there's been a good deal more on your mind than normal, you can't even really remember how long you've been out here. But, if the sun's rising is any indication, it's been a solid two hours at least.

A willowy gold shadow lights the sky gently from behind pointed rooftops as you see the familiar green of the streetsign. You stop at the foot of the driveway to catch your breath. Breath in, breath out. Now fake a smile and push away your thoughts--there's got to be simpler days ahead.

_I am fairly agile  
I can bend and not break  
Or I can break and take it with a smile_

Hmm, and you thought trigonometric functions were bad. Nothing could be worse than listening to a play-by-play of Gabriella's Saturday night date with Troy Bolton. It really is your fault, after all you _did_ encourage her to continue on about her weekend even after she got an uncomfortable look on her face. If you had known what would come of that, you surely wouldn't have pressed the issue though. You _really, really_ couldn't care less about the fancy French restaurant they went to.

A little bitter, perhaps? No. Yes. Alright, possibly.

But honestly, if she mentioned one more frickin' time about how oh-so-romantic it all was, you'd be forced to gauge your eyes out with the No. 2 pencils lying in front of you. She doesn't seem to notice the lack of interest as she prattles on, completely oblivious to your annoyance.

"Uh, Ryan? What are you doing?"

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, and find that somewhere in between "candles" and "filet mignon" you actually did reach for the pencil. You just give a sheepish shrug as you pull it away from hovering in front of your visionline. The story's bad, but not bad enough to pull an Oedipus.

"Just making sure it was sharpened."

She gives you a weird look, but buys your feeble excuse for the moment. "Alright. So should we get back to work."

"On second thought, hand me that pencil again."

Her laugh remains echoing in your ears as you go back to the endless page of numbers and formulas. Even through all it's confusing-ness, it's still a heck of a lot better than hearing about the dream date. You can remember the words from at least forty-seven musicals, but you can't get Gabriella to forget Troy for more than a half an hour at a time.

Something strange stirs in you as you meet her gaze head on. You shouldn't do what you know you're about to do. You really, really, shouldn't. Because suddenly you lean across the table and kiss her. And you'd be lying if you said it wasn't the most amazing experience of your life.

_I am so resilient  
I recover quickly  
I'll convince you soon that I am fine_

"_But, _you fucked up big, bro."

Sharpays words ring in your ears even hours after you fought. Sure, things have been a little strained between the two of you lately, but you've never fought like this. Ever. To be told by her that you messed up makes it even truer than it felt before. If she was disappointed in you, then you knew that you really did the wrong thing.

Alright, alright, so she did have a sort of boyfriend. So what? If she was so concerned with him then surely she wouldn't have kissed you back, right? Right? If there's one thing you know right now, it's that you don't know anything anymore.

"That's a lame excuse, and you know it. That girl has had a stamp on her ever since she walked into East High. Do you really think the rest of the school is gonna see it the way you do?"

Ah, and then the looming grey cloud over the horizon of your life--the population of East High. Okay, so sure you and Sharpay weren't exactly part of the 'in' crowd, but now it looks like you alone will join the ranks of the Untouchables. Where the hell is Gandhi when you need him?

When school resumes on Monday, things aren't any different than they've ever been. From the friendly way Troy and Jason greet you in the halls before homeroom, it would seem like neither of them know. The strange thing, though, is that it's Chad who stares at you apprehensively. But why would Chad be suspicious of you if Troy was as happy-go-lucky as ever?

Alright, so Gabriella's kept the secret (whether for your benefit or hers, you're not quite sure), what now? You haven't said a word to her in days, not like she's made any effort either.

And then you receive the best news ever! _Insert girly scream then sarcastic laugh._ Turns out the Boltons are coming over for Easter. Because, of course, this whole ordeal is going to move a lot more smoothly now. Let the sarcastic laugh ring again ...

You wish you could tell your mother that it should just be the four of you this holiday, but you know she'll never agree to that. She likes to keep up appearances, and it's more than a little obvious her relationship with the family has been deteriorating. But still, if only she was someone you could really talk to--then, maybe, she'd understand where you were coming from.

It seems weird for a teenage guy to be intimidated by his own mother, but it's true. She's always held this air about her that clearly states "Don't mess with me." You never have, and she's never seen you as anything but her perfect, doting little boy.

You wish your father was around more often. You don't blame him for keeping a job that requires so much travel, you know he'd much rather be with you and Sharpay instead of in some exotic location like Fiji or Guam. But isn't a guy supposed to be able to bond with his dad over football and steak? He's supposed to be coming home for Easter, but you've prepared yourself for the fact that he might not make it, it wouldn't be a surprise. Even if he is home, his advice would be a little delayed.

You _really_ wish Sharpay was talking to you. Who else can you confide in? Not Troy, not Chad, not Taylor, not Jason, not Zeke, Kelsi's a possibility but you know she tells Jason almost everything. If you really wanted to, you could probably trust her, but there's no room for the slightest hint of doubt. If it slipped out to Troy what had happened then everything you worked to build in the last few weeks would come crumbling down.

All this, just because you had to kiss Gabriella. Because she just _has to have_ a pseudo-boyfriend who's the school's god. You wonder if that one brush of lips was worth it, and from the corner of your eye you see her walking down the hallway.

The answer is simple: of course it was.

_Try to understand, there's an old mistake that fools will make  
And I'm the King of them, pushing everything that's good away_

Sharpay is more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for. No one else but her has put together something so blatantly obvious. It was during lunch when she spoke up about the curious disappearences Gabriella and Chad always made together. It took a minute to process, but then it became clearer. You haven't seen either of them during lunch the past few days, or during free period. But whenever one of them is gone, the other is also.

Taylor looks stricken and Troy looks puzzled as, you're sure, the worst-case scenarios run through their heads. It isn't easy to think optimistically in a situation like this. How many other possibilities could there really be?

It's the next day during free period you see Sharpay chasing after Troy, trying to calm him from his near wild rampage. She calls for you and the rest of the gang to follow them up to a place you vaguely remember as some science garden place. As you reach the top of the steps you see Chad and Gabriella looking a little too comfy on a bench together.

Perfect. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Really, there are a million adjectives to describe your situation right now.

So then it was a mistake to kiss her, you realize. How could you have been so stupid? To kiss perfect Gabriella Montez with her perfect boyfriend and her perfect man-on-the-side. Troy, Chad, and you--there's no competition there. The two lunkhead jocks can fight it out for her, you never really stood a chance.

It takes awhile for Troy's words to sink in with his best friend. Basketball players, you find, can be particularly dense. Actually, Gabriella has to explain to Chad what the thrown accusations meant.

"Chad, he thinks we're the ones sneaking around!"

"What?"

"Don't even deny it! Did you two think you were being stealth or something? Every time one of you wasn't around, the other wasn't either. You're both sick as shit! How could you fucking do that to me? To Taylor?"

To me? You think to yourself. Chad says something about Troy calming down, but it doesn't look like that'll happen anytime soon.

"I'm not gonna fucking calm down! You know what, you stupid dick, don't come near me! Don't talk to me! Don't even look at me! You and me, we're done!"

"Shut the hell up Troy because maybe if you did then you'd know that I'm not the asshole who stole your girlfriend! Why don't you fucking ask Ryan what happened!"

Oh, shit. Six pairs of eyes flash over to you in that moment, and you know that you're screwed beyond belief.

Troy rushes over to you, a new danger flashing through his eyes, and he makes a move to hit you. You don't move, you don't even try to defend yourself, you deserve whatever you get. Sharpay was right, you never should've gone for her.

That's when your sister stands in between you two. For a minute you're scared Troy will do something to her, but you know there's always been some kind of understanding between the two of them.

"You know what Troy, I'm sick of this! Let's not pretend for one minute that Ryan's the only one at fault here. It takes two to tango, buddy and I hate to break it to you, but Gabriella screwed up just as bad. But are you going to be angry at her? No, of course not. After this all blows over things are just going to go back to the way they were. You're such a stupid hypocrite.

"Go talk to your girlfriend, Troy. Go see why she's felt the need to keep whatever happened away from you. Go talk to her and ask her why the fuck she could talk to Chad, but not you."

You're even surprised at the words that come out of her mouth. It always seemed like she had a little _thing_ for him, she certainly never yelled at him before, and now she has. All for you.

He steps back with a stunned look on his face. It seems he wasn't expecting it either. Sharpay Evans, though, has always loved to shock people.

And later that day you're in your room with the blinds shut tight, laying on your bed and lamenting the horrible predicament you've gotten yourself into. Sharpay calls it "wallowing," but that sounds like a girly term so you don't like it. Then, speak of the devil, she knocks on your door and lets herself in. You suppose she's here to reprimand you some more.

"Ryan?"

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

"My friends all hate me. What do you think?"

"Did they tell you that?"

"They didn't need to. You were right Sharpay, I was an idiot thinking that Gabriella would ever break up with Troy for me."

"Woah, woah, woah. You're not serious, are you? Troy Bolton is no better than you are. Gabriella would be the luckiest girl in the world to even have you as an option. You know me, Ryan. I say things I don't mean when I'm mad and they always happen to be stupid comments. Don't even worry about them."

"Is this your ass-backwards way of apologizing?" She always did have trouble apologizing to people straight out ...

She cracks a smile, "I guess it is."

"Well, you're forgiven."

"I'd better be. Otherwise-"

You quirk an eyebrow as a smirk lights up your face, "I won't have any one to beat up Troy for me?"

"Precisely."

You're sure your peals of laughter echo through the halls after as she jumps on top of you, attacking with hugs and sloppy kisses on the cheek.

_So won't you hold me now  
I will not bend, I will not break_

It's been a long day. Oh, and look at that, it's only eight in the morning! Well this day isn't looking very promising at all.

You shove your hands in and out of your pockets, and shift your feet every now and then. This is a lot harder than you thought it would be. But at least you're still in one piece, if only for the moment.

"Look, you can tell I don't know what to say right now. This was never supposed to happen. I really am sorry."

"I know you are. I just, don't know how quickly I can forgive something like this."

"But you think eventually that you can?"

It takes awhile for him to answer, and you see his brows crinkle slightly. "Yeah, I think I definitely can."

"Do you have maybe a time frame? Schedule? Planner?"

He laughs at your joke. "I'll see you later Ryan. Good luck today."

You thank him, and before he's even five feet away you stop him.

"And Troy?"

"Yeah?"

"If you hurt Sharpay, I _will_ come after you."

"Noted."

"Now ask her out already!"

A blush rises in his cheeks, apparently he thought that no one could see the way he feels about your sister. Yeah right. You wouldn't doubt that Stevie Wonder could see that from a mile away.

"You too. I mean, about Gabriella. She really likes you, man."

It's your turn to blush now, and you try to hide it because boys shouldn't blush, but it's no use. Actually, it takes a lot of self-control just to resist jumping up and down screaming "She likes me! She likes me!"

_Won't you hold me now  
For you I rise, for you I fall_

Sharpay paces in front of you after school that same day, wringing hands, darting eyes, and the works. You don't think you've ever seen her so nervous. Finally the mask comes off, the façade drifts away and all you're left with is the girl you've always known underneath a icy veneer--vulnerabilities and all.

When she interrupted you mid-shmear, you didn't expect the words that flew out of her mouth a-mile-a-minute to be about your mother, but they were. She tells you and your father everything that's been bubbling beneath the surface for so long, and you're shocked. On some level, you suppose you always knew there was something off about the way she'd treated your twin. You were always on the receiving end of praises while it seemed Sharpay was left out. You hate yourself for it now, but then you didn't really care because for once you were being complimented for being your own person, not the other half of the infamous snotty Evans twins.

She's beating herself up about it, telling you that it's all her fault. It's not, it definitely, one hundred percent, can't be her fault. If there's anything you've learned over the past few weeks, it's that we're not as in control about everything as we'd like to be.

"How could I not?" she asks as your father questions whether she really thinks that it's her fault.

You've been in shock a little, but you finally break out of your reverie, "I think she needed this."

"What?"

"If she's really so bad, then maybe she needed to get away, to find herself."

And maybe it hurts now, and it'll probably hurt tomorrow, and the next day. But things will get better eventually, they have to. Your mother left, with just a horribly vague note that said little except "I love you." You don't know when she'll be back, hell, _she_ never told you why she was leaving. You haven't even heard from her in three days, since before you left on a weekend camping trip with your father. Monday morning brought you back home to soft beds and indoor plumbing, and that little note left on the kitchen counter.

You never thought you'd dislike her so much. Sharpay's stories shake you, and her sobs slice through you, and you hate your mother for being so cruel. How dare she make your twin feel like she wasn't good enough? How dare she tell her she was ugly or fat, or something else equally ridiculous? Scratch how dare she, how _could_ she?

As the three of you settle on the couch to watch a movie, you almost feel like you're going to be sick. You think you should have known. You should have been there for your sister when she needed you.

But as she curls up next to you, head on your shoulder, you know that you've all got a second chance. The three of you can be a family now. Time starts over here and now, at 9:45 at night. The ticking of the clock just serves as a reminder; it's a testament to old highs and new lows.

_So won't you hold me now_

You're not sure if there's ever been a more successful opening night for one of the school's musicals. Sure, Twinkle Towne was sold out pretty fast, but folding chairs were actually added to the back of the auditorium to accommodate the many people who wanted to watch.

The four of you are leads now--yourself, Sharpay, Troy, and Gabriella. You suppose Kelsi wrote the characters that way on purpose. It doesn't really matter though, Ms. Darbus was all too happy to have options this time around, and made sure you didn't have to be paired up as the romantic interest of your sister's character for once. Thank God--you were starting to get some weird looks, apparently no one's ever heard of stage-kissing before.

You and Gabriella have barely spoken since the day you kissed her. At rehersals you talked enough to get by, but then awkward silences ensued and you just gave up. Things between the two of you would probably never be the same, you just had to accept it. But wait, didn't Troy say that she likes you? It's a month into your new beginnings, and you decide to take a risk for once. It's time to throw caution to the wind.

The audience gives a standing ovation, and right after the entire cast takes another bow you turn to your right and kiss Gabriella. She's caught off guard, but she quickly realizes what's going on and snakes an arm around your neck to steady herself. It feels like fireworks are going off in your head, and you're sure your heart is beating out of your chest. Literally.

You break apart for air, and laugh as you hear the wolf-whistles and cat-calls of your friends.

"Get a room!" Chad shouts good-naturedly.

"So Miss Montez..."

"Yes Mr. Evans?

"How would you like to go out sometime."

"Well, I'd have to check my day planner to see if I could pencil you in, but the odds are looking pretty good."

And you were right. Things had to get better, there really wasn't any way they could get worse, after all.

_Won't you hold me now_


End file.
